There was a moment when he looked into the tiny Halloween town where he thought someone turned and looked at him.

It was early August and it was time to get back to school. Art school was something that required more then just notebooks and pencils for him. Michael, was in fact at Michaels. For the school year he needed to buy a few canvases for his paintings that he would be working on before the year entered into full swing, and few more for when it did. As he walked in he was surprised to see the front of the store stocked with plastic pumpkins, bats and ravens hanging from the ceiling, black glittering trees standing up against shelves and a full stock of Halloween props filling rows and rows of the store. August seemed to be just a bit early he thought. Fall didn’t start till the very end of September and here it was, all ready in his face. He ignored it at first, but in the middle of these rows of shelves was a stand with mini figures and buildings producing an energy of action and music. He looked towards the back of the store where his canvas lay waiting, then back at the display. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

The Hallow Village stood displayed on a few mounds of paper dirt and hay. In middle of the village sitting on a large hill overlooking everything a great windmill spun slowly. Among the blades were cob webs and spread around the tower hung a large spider that fixed it’s million eyes down at the front door. A few dust covered windows lit up with a flickering green from whatever was happening inside. Around the base, moss, yellow hay bricks and boxes pilled up. A small wooden fence stood with a small door a few feet from the house. From the small gate a path led down into the village. It moved past two buildings.

One a doctors office. If that’s what you might call it. Frankenstein Ortho. Large windows splattered with dull dried blood rose on each side of a double door. The building rose and spun into the air with black pointed fences sticking out from impossible windows. A man patched with different arms and legs sat on the stoop of the office outlooking the village square. He rested his large square jaw on his hands in a defeated manner.

On the other side of the street from Frankenstein Ortho was an apothecary.

The witches Brew. An apt name for it. The entrance was one step into a flung open door that seemed to lead into fully stock rows of old falling apart bookshelves. Eyes and crystal balls looked towards the door from the inside. A set of stairs across from the main desk squared up and led to the second story where a balcony looked over the square. On it a large cauldron with wings, eyes, toads, and green slime was being churned by a witch in flowing black robes. A broom stick sat in the corner waiting for their nightly ride. The building was built in dark stone and had accents of light bricks on the corners. It ended in a Victorian point at the top with sloping roofs.

Out in the square of darkened cobble stone was a large fountain that sprayed a sea green water a few centimeters in the air. The whole thing was black, round like a cauldron and was adjourned in bats and lizards all around it. A few decrypted benches were littered around the plaza.

Next on tour was the The Night Ball. It seemed to be a swinging joint. Skeletons, zombies and vampires dressed in 1950’s fancy dresses danced outside on the sidewalk and on the roof top, which was filled with lamps which emitted a bright fiery blue. A zombie with no jaw manned the bar. He was busy shaking a cocktail shaker and looking out to tables inside, which all pointed at a stage with a band of werewolves strumming along some instruments. The whole places looked like an undead New Year’s Eve party in New York.

The last building to wrap around the square was a bookstore. The Unholy Grimore Store. It looked like a large book that had seen and gone through everything one could imagine. The spine was falling apart, the binding pealed around the window on the side and the whole thing opened slightly to give the shop dimension revealing thick leathery pages filled with grime and dirt. The doors looked as if someone had torn the corner off of the middle pages of the book. Two massive wooden doors stood in the middle of ripped and raw pages. He couldn’t see inside, but it had an upstairs as well and a small balcony on the back.

He look off towards the east of town and saw a small building through a corn field. He moved to take a closer look. A small house with a towering chimney sat out among the corn. In front was a what looked like a ghost. A sheet hanging in mid air with two lumps of sheet arms. one was holding a paint brush. An easel sat in front with a painting on it. A small painter ghost and it’s haunted house. Michael smiled and leaned in to take a look at the painting that the ghost was producing.

There, on a canvas no bigger then his thumb, was the shelves that he was standing in front of. In tiny detail the store came alive in paint that he couldn’t believe. He did a double take. Staring at the shelves committing it to memory and then back at the tiny painting. He crouched to the packaging below the display.

The Ghostly Painter. The package showed the small shack and the ghost statue that came with it. Michael picked up the box and then looked back at the display. The ghost seemed to have turned slightly. It’s sheet whipped in the wind. Did it smile at him?

He looked again at the box in his hands. Nothing on it said that it was magical. Magical ?! What was he thinking, but then he glimpsed at the canvas one last time.

He brought the box with him and retrieved his canvas that were bored of waiting.

His dorm room would have a new addition this year.

-

I love going into Michaels around Halloween. They have their Halloween town thing that they do. I always pick up a figure here and here. This year I bought a pumpkin snowman. A couple years ago I bought a pumpkin water tower. They are fun to put up around the year in small spaces. I would love to one day buy one of the big displays. They are so detailed and have really cool architecture to them. The whole vibe is something close to my heart. Do we think Michael might be pulled into the mini Halloween town ? Maybe it can be a source of inspiration for him as he goes through the blitz of art school.

Nothing to crazy with this story, I would like to explore mini towns like this in the future. I remember the Goosebumps episode where the kids get sucked into the miniature town. A pretty scary episode, especially when the girl gets turned into a human pig thing.

Till next time

“What was that?” She turned to look through the darkened trees. The sun never really set,but it dipped in the sky allowing the trees to cast their shadows among the trails.

Her boyfriend turned and looked around “probably a squirrel or something” he returned to trekking down the trail. They continued for a few moment and then she stopped again. Her ears perked up and she tried to follow the sound that invaded her space.

“No,there, I definitely heard something out there.” She peered into the never ending trees. The sound was faint, but strings of music whipped around the trees and into her ears. It pulled her every time it peeked her interest. Her boyfriend, growing annoyed at the constant interruption spun around and stood next to her.

“I don’t hear any-“ the strings grazed against his ears this time. It was a violin. Far away it strummed deeply and controlling. The music was sweet and flowed with a smooth consistency.

“Where is that coming from?” He moved towards the sound. His girlfriend put her arm out to stop him, but he pushed past it and off the path. The trees past him as he made his way. Norwegian wood tall and old, shepard him to his ultimate destination. A few minutes past as the music grew louder and sweeter. The notes getting more personal. Each note that flowed into the ears seemed to be written just for him. Memories and emotions poured forth from his past. The violin played to his soul.

“Jason” he finally stopped “Please, stop” he turned to her. His eyes saw her, but his mind and spirit was with the music. She had been calling his name since he left the path.

“What is it, Terra? You heard it, the music right? It is so beautiful. It matches completely” Jason said. He seemed entranced. The music had ceased to be heard by Terra as soon as Jason caught ear of it. It was if the music had changed targets, picked a easier victim.

Jason turned back around and moved again, his feet dragged across the brush floor and through the Norwood.

They soon came to a clearing in the woods. A small lake opened up among the dark woods. The water was crystal clear blue and a small boulder sat off center in the middle. Jason came to the edge of the water and peered at the rock. The music was louder, all encompassing. It flowed through every part of him. A sweet serenade of his life passing before and through himself. Every cell recalled a different part of him from eons ago. His body vibrated in ecstasy.

Upon the rock a figure appeared. It was if they walked out of the water behind the boulder and stepped upon the crest. Jason stared at the figure. An impossible beautiful women stood draped in white flowing clothe. Upon her shoulders a violin sat, her other arm moved fluidly strumming with a bow. She smiled deliciously at them both. Revealing a welcoming, but seductive greeting to both of them. Her eyes, which glowed yellow, stared at Jason. They beckoned him to her. Terra pulled at his arm as he stepped forward into the water. The female also stepped forward into the water. Each step Jason took, she took as well. Terra tried with all her might, her voice straining from the screaming to keep him out of the water.

The music stopped as soon as the women entered fully into the water. Her arms still moved across the violin as she submerged.

Jason took a large intake of breath and rubbed his eyes. His senses came back to him now that the music wasn’t making him drunk with pleasure. He looked down at his waist which as submerged in water. He turned around and looked at Terra. Her face was a painting of horror.

He went to speak, but it was to late. He women rose from the water. Her beauty had turned to an impossible horrid appearance. Her eyes still remained the same, but her skin sagged with a mossy consistency and had turned from a milky white to a sickening sea green. Her smile which brought warmth now hung in a awful frown. Bunches of flesh collected and hung from her bones. A shriek escaped it’s mouth as it grabbed him. He screamed. Terra screamed.

The woods kept still and observed.

The creature dragged Jason into the water and into the unknown of the lake. The shadow of them both dipped to the middle of the lake and like shadow being smothered by the sun, it circled and disappeared.

Terra stood watching the waves of the lake subside. Her eyes scanned the deep. The lake wasn’t that deep, but there was nothing left. It took her a moment to realize or rationalize what was happening. She went to turn and run, but another sound caught her. The music she had heard earlier had returned. This time it had snared her. She turned back the lake.

An impossible man stood at the shore. His arms strumming a violin with a bow.

she tried to scream.

She tried to run.

Her feed moved towards him.

-

At the moment I am in Norway for a wedding. Among the large fields and farmlands are large patches of forests. They are filled with tall tress which even among the sun, makes them look dark.

The creature in the story is a Nøkk, they are creatures of Scandinavian legends. They hang around water and lead their victims in with music. They are beautiful beings that charm their victims and take their souls. Again I think music has a certain charm to it. With the power to charm and enslave those that get lost in the emotion and memories it can bring. It can be a very powerful tool.

There is a place that lays east of a city of gears of massive proportion. Clockwork City. Sitting on the coast it stretches miles and miles across the sea wall with towering skyscrapers that smile into the endless ocean. Just beyond their vision, shrouded in a mist that seems to hang around, like a curtain that is never pulled, an island wades.

In the shape of a dolphin spinning in the air and named after such a dolphin that might of saved a few planets and times at one point, this island sits alone and undisturbed by the huge mechanized city on the coast.Why? Well it is filled with magic, creatures from beyond and ancient evil. On the other hand the island is self sustaining. Creatures, and things have made it their home and even an eccentric family of powerful mages have built a mansion on the island.

The island is unique, as it’s environment is culmination of many different types that just happened to be smashed into a dolphin shaped space.

In the north and south of the island, the top of the head of the dolphin, and the edge of the tail, are sweeping golden sand beaches surrounded by dense tropical forest. Waterfalls, large plants, twisting trees and rocks build out the forest. There are many deadly creatures in these regions, but some paths have been cleared by the natives to reach the paradise that sits just beyond. It seems as the tropics are connected to the beaches, as they reach inland, the tropical forests thin out out more and more until there is no trace, but a far away shadow of the massive trees and dense vines. The smell of thick water on the nose.

As you head east down the dolphins head you will find sprawling meadows, large maples, and grassy knolls. A paradise of small woodland creatures and gentle streams that fill the ears with a quiet appreciation for the little things. This is where the Newearls, the mages, have built their mansion. In a cove surrounded by knolls and a maple forest lay their massive establishment. It has a small road that leads between two knolls and into the meadow. The Newearls, being sort of seekers of chaotic land and magic, the ones that push the envelope on magic and maybe sanity, sought the island through feeling. When they emerged through the thick mist on their boat, the island welcomed them as explorers of the edge of magical wills and let them onto the island. While ships and sailors, pilots and inter dimensional travelers would get lost in the thick mist, the Newearls knew the island would not reject them as it called from Clockwork city to them.

While they enjoyed some time as a family when their kids were young, tragedy and opportunity struck. It became a summer home after a while. A vacation spot from the world.

As you head south to the middle of the dolphin the mood and atmosphere take a creepy turn. A landscape of rolling hills of pumpkin fields, graveyards and trees stuck in perpetual skeleton states, this area is permanently in autumn. The sky even turns a orangish black at night and during the day, the sun always has a tinge of darkness to it. Going past the fields the land starts to slope and large haunted mansion spring up and towns littered with broken lights and doors hanging off the hinges. The ground opens up into free fall. Leading to an abyss that has yet to be explored. Reaching out of the abyss are great jack-o-lanterns made out of darken brown rock. Decrepit-ed mansions and ghostly trains make their towns on these giant towering glowing pillars of Halloween. Whispers, screams, terror and fright. All wrapped into a physical location scorched in candy corn, the sweet smell of leaves, cinnamon and pumpkin.

Climbing out of the carnival of thrills and chills one would continue south to the tail of the dolphin which curved towards it’s head. Before hitting the tropical jungles of the coast and sandy beaches, a denser more ancient forest exists. Like an ancient amazon that had been growing for millions of years and another million on top of that, with large stone aqueducts that shuttled water to hanging stone gardens and remnants of monuments to unknown gods. This area guarded by dense jungle holds Aztec stone monoliths with the mindset of the Greeks. If one could reach the inner sanctum of these overgrown palaces, still ponds of crystal clear water would await. Shining they would sing to the viewer a calming song of tranquility. When the sun was shining it would illuminate the insides of these forgotten chapels of the old. Revealing stories older then time inscribed on the walls.

This is Ecco Island. A place filled with wonder and magic. Always looking to surprise the visitors with new landmarks and strange attractions that have yet to be unveiled. If you see the mist out at sea, while the clocks tick loudly in the background, wonder if the island is beckoning, if it would let you cross the barrier to it’s magic.

-

Ecco island is a remnet of my past. When I was in 4th Grade a certain video game came out. Phantasy Star Online. This game changed the course of my life in many ways. It gave me the Newearls, the magic family, and it inspired my whole imagination. It still does.

My teacher at the time had us write our own story for Dr.Suess birthday. We had to make the whole book and everything. My story was actually about the son of the Newearls getting his Dreamcast. But the place that they lived, was Ecco island. I continued building their stories through out my life. Amy Newearl, who was in the Christmas Town story, is the main character of the stories. She looks basically like the stock FoNewearl from the game(which turned out to be unique online, as everyone customized the character haha).

Ecco Island is named after Ecco the Dolphin. I had beat the Sega Gensis game, which was stupid hard, and loved the really odd nature of it all. Also I really love dolphins.

We will revisit some of these characters in the future.

A man sat in a park writing a poem. He was an ordinary man. Around six feet. Athletic build. Medium flowing brown hair.

He sat writing a poem on his laptop in the park. He had done this many times. A couple of tables and chairs were strewn about the grass in front of a bushy forest. He always picked the table in the middle, a picnic table sat between him and the row of brush that he would look into sometimes between thinking of the next verse.

Black. His coffee of choice. The oil was always in a white thermos with a sticker that wrapped it

“Today, is a day. One day, that was once alive, then dead to be reborn”

He had wrote that himself.

Everyday he came to the park and wrote a poem. Sometimes it took him five minutes other times it took hours. Today was an hours day.

His eyes peered up from this laptop and into the brush in front of him. It was mix of dark and green plants smashed together. As he scanned the foray he caught something. A pair of eyes. He could barely make them out, but it was the feeling. The feeling of being watched. He sat up a bit in his chair to get a better look.

The eyes rose high above the brush line. He took a sharp intake of breath.

The thing stepped out of the brush line in a fluid motion. Long arms and legs comically swaying back and forth. What ever it was, it was unnatural. Covered in blue fur, eyes sitting on top of smiling mouth of large red lips and yellow gloved hands and feet. It looked like a child’s toy.

Then it hit him, he had seen this thing before. He looked down at his laptop and searched.

“Huggy Wuggy”

The toy came up on his screen. It was the same.

He glanced up from his screen.

Huggy was already noodling it’s way towards him with incredible speed. It’s arms grasping the picnic table to propel it forward. It’s smile opened revealing a host of needle teeth.

Maybe he would be reborn another day.

-

While I was writing one day in the backyard I got distracted. Actually this happens a lot when I look into forest or brush or just things faraway. My mind always comes up with that “What if this thing just walked out of the brush” A monster, a dinosaur, a evil blue fuzzy toy.

And it wouldn’t be like it just comes out of the brush, it would move in slow motion, fluid like, unnaturally out of the unknown and into the known.

I originally just see something out there, but this time I thought it would be funny for Huggy Wuggy from Poppy Playtimeto creep out and eat our hard at work poet. Such a serious man to be killed by an unserious creature. How poetic.

He was sitting in the the front row. Alone. There was not a single person to his right of left. Behind him, rows and rows of patrons sat captivated by the performance on stage.

A lady ran from one end of the stage to the other. A backdrop of a shabby kitchen within a wooden house kept her in scene. A small table with two children. One a girl with braided twin tails in an ancient pilgrim dress and another a boy, dressed in a white discolored button down shirt and black shorts. They both sat with their feet barely touching the floor. A man sat leaning back in one of the chairs. His eyes were hollow and he stared right through the women who was clanking pans, yelling at all three of them and waving about in frantic motions. On his head was small black hat, his face was hanging and unkept. Black hair poked around his ears and from under the brim of his hat. In his mouth a pipe moved from one side of his mouth to the other until he stopped, inhaled and blew a large puff of smoke into the room above the children.

In stark contrast to the children and the man, the women was a blaze of motion and emotion. She could not sit still, could not stop speaking, could not and maybe would not, compose herself. She went on for more then five minutes in a kinetic torrent, then as she picked up a pan full of bacon she was frying on the cast-iron stove top froze completely.

The man in the front rose slowly to this feet. A clap came from the back of the room, which was now devoid of all patrons.

“This time, we seem to be meeting in the same place. I wondered where you would be hiding. Here? Watching this drab show, it does not become of you” A light female voice spoke from the shadows in the back.

The man started to move off to the side.

“Vincent, you cannot run forever”

The man stopped and turned to the shadows. The theater was Victorian style. high grand ceilings with drapes and terrace seating with rounded private suites scaling the sides towards the stage. It was done in swirling gold and cast in velvet. The seats stood with rows of rows of felt crimson backings, worn slightly in the middle where many backs had rested upon. Heels clacked against the felt
carpet of the aisle and she revealed her self.

Vincent had seen her many times, in many different ways. Once the tenderness of her eyes gazed at him from a distance, then in his private quarters. Those eyes, now shone deep violet. Her dark blue hair draped to one side and curled in all directions. Her look was one of a ringleader in a circus. Tight white pants that went above her waist with four brass buttons. A red blouse was tucked into the pants just above her stomach which a black long coat came to two points behind her knees. The jacket had rows of brass buttons on the right side of the open, a crest of a raven upon a gravestone was embroiled on the right breast. Black boots with needled heels rose her a few inches off the ground. Her face was soft, but her devilish smile and narrowed eyes cast a different story.

“You think that I am running from you, Victoria?” He said.

She scoffed and stopped a couple of feet from him. Her eyes flicked from him to the frozen scene on stage then back to him.

“Why else would you jump from one place to another? Then ending up in theaters and concerts all over time and space watching the most mundane of performances. Every time I show up, you go somewhere else. At first it was hard to find you, now it is just predicable”

“Then you will see me again, sooner then later” Vincent turned on his heels and lept onto the stage. He gave one glance behind him to Victoria, who stood scowling. He missed those eyes in a different light. His heart pinched, as it always did, as it always would. He turned back and exited the right side of the stage.

The lady, the man and the children now bowed on the stage. The audience was on their feet clapping and cheering for the performance.

Victoria stood among the clamor. Her eyes fixed on the right side of the stage. She then turned and marched back down the aisle and into the shadows.

-

Keeping on point with the theater performances. I had just seen the movie Everything, Everywhere, All at once, which is a fantastic film about family drama and emotions of ones life passing by with time travel involved. While this story follows sort of the magician vibe, with mystery coming from no where and showing up, I still had the thought of one jumping through time and space to weird and odd shows being performed at the theaters or other spaces.

“You say that you cannot sleep?”

“No doc, I told you. I sleep just fine. It’s that when I sleep I dream of being asleep.” The girl in the large leather sofa closed her eyes tight “It’s endless. I sleep, then she sleeps and the me in her falls a asleep. Like an infinity mirror. Then it stops and I wake up. Exhausted”

She could hear the scribbles of notes being recored. Her therapist, who she called doc, half lidded eyed his page of notes.

“How can I be so exhausted when I am falling asleep so much “ she let out a small nervous laugh.

“How do you know which one of you is the one awake right now?” doc asked still studying his notes. It was more a thought then a question to her. Doc approached his sessions like a scientist. Actively trying to figure it out.

The clock on the wall ticked away, but they both sat pondering.

“Wait are you saying I might still be asleep?” she finally said sitting up on the sofa.

Doc shrugged and set down the note pad on the small table to his right “Maybe, could it be that the last ‘you’ woke up and the others before are still asleep? The original you is still asleep and then there are multiple of you between ‘you’ and you?” Doc pursed his lips “That means I’m not real either. I’m dream me” he nodded slowly to himself then swiped his note book back up and started to furiously write.

She let out a sigh and fell back onto the couch with a plop. What was the last thing she remembered doing? How did she get here? When did she wake up?

The last thought. No alarm, no sunrise, no mom calling up to her. She woke up exhausted though? Didn’t she?

“Doc…” she turned to him, but the seat was empty. A torrent of terror jerked her up and into the middle of the room. “Doc” she called again. She looked around the office. It looked as it always had, but something was missing. It felt off. She then walked to leave.

There was no door.

Replaced in it’s spot was a painting of her in bed. Awake. Wide eyed staring at her ceiling. Staring at her.

When their eyes met each other the office melted with slow syrup motion. The colors blotted together and forms seemed to mix with thick consistency. The only object in the room to not melt was the painting. Which still stared at her. She could not tear her vision from it.

Caught in a trance she walk towards it. Her feet slugged through the floor as got closer. She reached her hands out and they went into the painting as if it was a window. She felt the other room pull and grip her hand with ungodly force.

Her arms pulled deeper into the painting. Their colors and skin melding together like the room. Stretching, straining, melting towards her self. She screamed.

Her painting screamed still wide eyed.

The force was to strong. She melted through the frame into her other self. She fell straight into her own screaming face. Then again and again and again. As if each rendition of her sleeping figure was now waking up.

She jolted up from her bed with a scream. Her eyes pointed towards the white plaster ceiling.

For a moment she sat staring, trying to catch her breath. Then she pressed her face into her palms.

A knock came at her door.

“I’m okay, I just had a bad dream” she tried to reassure her parents.

A different voice came from behind the door.

“Did you find out if you were still asleep” Doc’s muffled voice came as an answer.

She got up from her bed and as her feet put pressure on the floor she fell.

and kept falling.

-

Dreams are an odd one. I am sure that I will be writing a lot more about dreams. I have very vivid dreams. I remember them and sometimes I feel as if they are more real then my actual life. I have places I come back to in my dreams. They all have such vivid sights and emotions.

I should interpret them, but I have yet to do that. Pay attention to your dreams though. They are very important.

It was five in the afternoon and he danced around the house from one typewriter to the next. The ideas would not stop. Each time his fingers touched the steel keys new ideas picked up where they left off and his imagination spun to keep up with his rhythmic typing. One idea, one scene, one character, one rising and another falling. Then switch. His leather shoes knocking at the hard wood floor to the next machine. The sound of metal pounding paper filled the air again. It was constant background noise from every angle of the house. Even if it broke and he stepped back to think for just a moment, the sound still lingered in the air. A smile came to his lips

“Yeah thats good” he gave a laugh while still working his magic upon the keys. The end of the page approached and he ripped the paper from the jaws of the beast, laid it on another stack of pages filled with ink and rolled another piece of paper into the machines clutches. As soon as it was realigned the letters started to appear on the page.

While he typed, in his head the whole thing played out.

-

“James, it’s over for you and your goody two shoe-d girl” the man in the shadows said.

James knew that he could not out gun the man. Why? Because he know knew who he was.

“I never thought it would be you that would double cross me” he put out his hand to shield Charlotte “Gilbert Demson”

Gilbert stepped forward and let the light hit him. He stood with a smug smile wearing the same white and black suit that he had on at the party. He didn’t even bother to get changed before trying to kill him.

-

“How are you going to get out of this one James” the man gave a wicked smile and typed the answer. Dear Charlotte. Ace shooter. Preparing a gun behind James back. James explains that he knew Gilbert’s secret of funneling money to the construction company taking over the neighborhoods. In a moment of surprise. Thats when she takes the shot. One chance. Dead bang. Right between the eyes.

He wraps up the story mid page. Tears it away and sets it on the stack. One done, many more to go. His foot steps are moving again to the next adventure. The readers, his imagination, they cannot be satisfied. The clinking of the keys start up again. His face lights up in a smile.

-

When I was in Japan I started listening to radio dramas on audible. One that I stumbled upon was The Shadow. Which was about Lamont Cranston “wealthy young man about town”. He had an alter ego. He learned a trick to make himself invisible and he would stop evil as the shadow.

I recently discovered that the writer of the shadow, Walter B. Gibson, was insanely productive. He would write all the time and I saw that he had typewriters in each of his rooms, each with a story that he was working on. Not sure if that is true, but his output regardless was incredible. Here is a small snippet that I found of him talking about his writing. Also he was a magician.

Brushed across the sky was swirling clouds of purple and orange. The sun peaked just above the fields and around houses. He walked up towards the small train station. It was made out of wood, single room with a small ticket booth, which was no longer in use. A small bench ran across one side of the room with a few ornate pads to be sat on. Behind it on the wall was a board filled with advertising, job postings, kids art and a map to a couple of local tourist spots. Through the building and over tracks was a ramp that led to a long concrete platform that ran along the metal roads and poles of wire that escorted the trains.

The station was empty besides him. He walked through and stepped onto the platform and waited. The air was hot, thick and humid, even with the sun now waving goodnight. He dabbed his head with a cloth and then returned it to his fine pressed suit. Lights started to turn on and the last of the sun turned to darkness. He stood waiting still. He was early. Then out in the distance a light appeared to be moving towards him.

He took a deep breath in.

The train grew larger, calling out with it’s horn and slowed before reaching the platform. The yellow lights of the cabins whirled past him then came to a halt.

He released his breath.

The doors opened. The train was also empty besides the conductor who waved from the front of the car with a big smile.

He hesitated. Waved off the torrents of nervousness.

“行きましょう” he whispered to him self and stepped into the humming train.

The doors closed and it pulled slowly away form the station. Carrying another towards their destiny.

行きましょう = “Let’s do this”

-

This was inspired by waiting for trains in Japan. When I traveled around Shikoku I waited for a lot of trains out in the country side. In Japanese movies/anime/manga there are scenes where they either show train station when the sun is setting or characters standing on the train platform. Before the trip the scenes did not mean much to me,they seemed to be showing that the characters were about to travel, but after experiencing it my self I can sense the feeling now that is being portrayed in those scenes. It is a sense of daily life. Train and train station would accompany one through their whole life making imprints of memories through out time. All feelings could be wrapped in those stations. One memorable train station was Motoyama station. It is just after temple 70 Motoyamji and down the street. Around is a bit rural,but when you get to the station you see all the fields that surround it. When I got there the sun was setting and the sky was a deep purple and red. Nothing was better then catching the train after an exhausting day.

Trains also carried majority of people in Japan, so each person I saw was going somewhere, doing something. I was fascinated with their stories. Trains carried dreams.

The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. The auditorium was filled past maximum capacity. People were selling tickets that did not exist and shuttling families in through the windows to see this once in a lifetime show. Mr.Solstice. The grand magician from a far away land. His shows were legendary and he only did one show per city. You never knew where he was going to be next. He never announced, or told anything, just moved to the next town and as soon as he arrived exclaimed that he would be doing a show the next day. He seemly moved around the country in bursts that could not be followed. He would move at impossible speeds from state to state. Sometimes being on the east coast and a day later on the west coast. This helped boost his mystique. If he could move that fast, who knew when he might just disappear completely. There were only a handful of people who had seen him more then once. If you were there you saw him, if you weren’t, you missed him. Sometimes he would show up in big cities, other times in small towns with barely anyone living in them. Small farms would gather around him in a barn filled with hay and cows where he would stoke the imagination and grant a portal into another world for a night. He would perform for everyone and anyone, but only once. He made no special appearances and entertained no requests.

Tonight he was making him self visible in the medium town of Morgantown. It’s theater sat next to river running through the middle of town which was nestled in between green forested hills.
Mr.Solstice appeared in a blinding light onto the stage. The crowd gasped and cheered as he bowed. He was an older gentlemen. Graying black hair pushed back off his face but flowing. His outfit was a black and white. A long coat that reached just above his feet which were adorned in leather black boots that were bound with laces and buckles. His pants seemed tight and he was thin. He had the looks of a gentleman, but the smile of a thief.

He put out his hands and roared into the crowd. They roared back at him.

“Welcome to the end of what you thought was possible. The most magical night that you will ever experience, witness, and comprehend. Tonight I will show you what is possible, what the world has hidden from you in plain sight. Your eyes, your spirit will not be deceived any longer. All that flows through you tonight is real. As real as the flesh on your bones. Sit back and be dazzled. Leave here with something more then you came in with. Imagination that is no longer shackled.”

The whole theater erupted with anticipation. Mr.Solstice stepped towards the front of the stage and rose his arms out in front of him. In a quick jerky motion he flung them back. As he did flames ignited on his palms.

“Wouldn’t you like be able to cook like this” he joked as he moved fluidly across the stage tossing fire up in the air and catching it like they were solid objects. He then clapped his hands together as if he was a martial artists and the flames went out with a burst. The crowd recoiled at the sudden sound, but ushered for more. Mr. Solstice produced more magic. He made water flow from his long jacket. Balls of light appear in the middle of the stage that floated across the crowd whipping around in a symphony of colors and sounds. He floated gently off the ground and above the heads of the wide eyed. Every move that he did had a purpose. Producing another impossible trick, another burst in the imagination of those watching. The crowd could only be absorbed by the spectacle. Wondering, trying to wrap their consciousness around what was happening. Mr.Solstice breathed heavily. He was sweating, but his face was lit in a smile of pure joy. His eyes though wandered among the crowd and a small twitch of sadness revealed itself.

“Well then. I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves tonight. This is the end of the show. It seems that somethings of the past has caught up with me. To all of you “ he rose his hand above his head, as he did so did the crowd. “I bid you a fantastic and magical filled destiny. Let all that comes to you be magnificent. Till next time!” He then clapped his hands and the crowd did the same. The theater was filled with two deafening crisp claps and the lights went out. There was complete silence and then the lights returned. Mr.Solstice was gone.

-

I am reading Win the Crowd by Steve Cohen which is about being able to read and influence crowds and other people. He is a magician by trade so it got me thinking about the magicians of real life.Mr.Solstice is a bit more then that. His shows are always cut short by a pursuing danger. I like the era of old America as well. A time of wild imagination and information took time to travel around. There would be more time to think and less to drown out your own crazy thoughts about the world. Also a lot more nature between towns.

The kingdom of the three Sullivans was in the middle of a glade that vibrated with deep and blinding greens. Streams that flowed gently in all directions glistened in between the rays of sun light that shone through the large oak trees which spread across the land. It was a paradise that one could only imagine in a childrens dream. Travelers would cast them selves into the wilderness, past the mountains of Grees, through the swamps of the forgotten and the lakes of Hilden just to for the chance to witness the emerald green glade. How was it possible that such a place existed surrounded by so much chaos? One did not know and one did not question it’s existence. They only thanked all of creation for the sights, sounds and experience of it all.

In the middle of the kingdom was the city. Rising high in the clouds it spiraled with gold and white columns cascading the circular buildings higher and higher. One could see the towering structures from any location in the glades. When travelers would be fearing for their lives in the mountains of Grees, they could see the tower in the distance piecing the sky with its gold and white. Tears would fall from their frozen eyes at the sight, finally realizing what their pain was worth. When one approached the base of the city they were greeted with great oaks that gave ample shade and bodies of water which glistened and projected a calmness that flowed through the whole land. Water gently fell from the city walls which were adorned in all sorts of mystical creatures cast in ebony and stone. They scoured at enemies and welcomed guests.

Most days a gentle rain would flow through the kingdom. Dark clouds would wash the sky and contrast the glowing landscape. A sweet warm spring rain would then wash everything down, leaving the scent of honey and lavender in the air. The land was filled with animals that preyed on each other in the dark, but by day remained proper and docile. Their eyes would spy travelers beaten and wary and give them their blessing as they made their way.

Among the roads to the kingdoms some small towns sat on top of large grassy knolls, under tower forests and near gentle rivers and lakes. Each one harvesting the fruits from the land and sending it towards the capital and foreign lands. Most of them looked similar with their large wooden ornate structures. Dark brown wood carved from the massive oaks made up each of the buildings. The wood was then hammered and chiseled to make swirling edges to the roofs and to make up the rounded and triangular doors on some of the houses. Some towns were filled with one story buildings that scattered randomly round while other were filled with two story structures with balconies that gave view to the surroundings. What ever town you visited there was always honey ale. The lands specialty. It was sweet and thick, but with a hint of spice and a calming effect when going down the throat. Everyone drank it in the land and was sought after from many outside. Harvested from the abundance of honey from the large bee’s in the east of the land, the honey would then be mixed with lavender, spice and a mixture of water and milk. Then it would sit for a single day, mixed, heated and then mixed again. It would then be stored in large oak barrels coated in a thin layer of Humberg wax to make sure it did not stick and shipped off to the towns and kingdoms.

The kingdom of the three Sullivans was in the middle of a glade. A glade that was surrounded by darkness. A glade spreading it’s beacon of hope. The kingdom of the three Sullivans was destined to fall.

But also to rise again.

-

I like making landscapes and weird mystical places. I often dream of glades and spring like landscapes to calm my self down. This is mostly from my fondness of the forest zone from Phantasy Star Online. A place that the sun is always shining. A nice gentle breeze flows through just at the right time and a stream, buzzing bees, and small animals fill the air with their music. Large white clouds would always be passing by to give shelter from the sun while the large trees always gave respite.